


Broken Pieces

by DessArtem



Series: Broken Pieces [1]
Category: The LEGO Movie (2014)
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, F/M, Flashbacks, Good Cop is Gone, Human Legos, Hurt/Comfort, Major Original Character(s), Overcomplicating Legos, Post-Canon, Rewrite of a previous longfic, Robot Limbs Cops, Scars, Slow Burn, Swearing, injuries, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3521282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DessArtem/pseuds/DessArtem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Rewrite of "Reconstruction")</p><p>Lord Business's reign has come to an end. Bad Cop struggles to recover his lost hope for a future. Alice struggles to show him.</p><p>A Bad Cop and Original Character centric fanfiction. This is the main work in my "Broken Pieces" universe.</p><p>(Note: Chapters 1 and 2 are very similar to pre-rewrite, but they are still fairly heavily edited. From 3 on is veeery different from what you might have read in Reconstruction.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Cops Wake Up in a Basement Lair

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter takes place about a year before the events of the movie. All of GCBC's interactions in their head are written in italics.

Of all the times to be captured, it had to be on their day off.

Bad Cop pulled against the restraints, face twisted into a snarl, and was unpleasantly surprised to find they were too strong for him to break. He couldn’t see what exactly they were made of, since his body was covered by a large sheet, but there were a lot of them stretched over their body. He let his training take over, give him cold focus. He saved his strength and used those precious moments to closely examine the dark room they were being kept in, searching for information that might aid in an escape. He had to push himself up a bit with his shoulders and elbows, fighting the tension of the restraints, since he was lying horizontally on a mattress.

They were in some kind of basement, judging by the small covered windows set at the top of the walls. He could make out some shapes that indicated other furniture spread out around the room, but nothing specific. Their flip-up glasses were not on his face, so his vision was fairly blurry. The only light in the room was a single lamp on a desk that had some strange metal tools neatly laid out upon it. This is what Bad squinted at to try to get a better look.

“ _Are those torture tools, or just regular tools?_ ” asked Good. When they weren’t fronting, they could still see and dimly feel through their shared body when they wanted to.

“ _Not sure,_ ” he answered, not daring to speak aloud in case their captors were nearby.

“ _Well, anything can be used for torture if you’re creative enough_ ,” commented Good resignedly. “ _Will you be able to handle it by yourself?_ ” he added calmly.

Before Bad could answer, they heard the exterior doors squeak as they were opened by a lone figure. He glared evenly at them as they came down the steps.

“Oh, uh, I wasn’t expecting you to wake up so soon.” The voice was mid-range and apparently female, judging by the small but apparent breasts. Through the dimness, the Cops noted a fairly tall, but somewhat soft and curved body under old clothes that were too big for it. The torturer walked in with quick, even steps, not slowly and morbidly like one would expect.

Bad kept his face hostile but unresponsive to show he wasn’t buying it, though, as he and Good carefully looked the stranger over when she stepped into the light of the lamp. The only real similarity to other torturers they’d seen was that this one’s clothes were old and worn, the kind one wouldn’t mind getting dirty. Her jeans hung loosely on her legs and were held up by an old belt. Her loose shirt had been washed many times, but Bad could still see dark stains ingrained in the fabric of it, as well as the long lab coat that had once been white but was now a splotchy grey. It hung on her body a bit loosely, but she moved comfortably in it as if she’d been wearing it for years. Perhaps she was going to do a doctor game, pretending to check various body parts while cutting into them or something. Those were always the creepiest, but certainly nothing new.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” she finally began, “In fact, this is going to be very surprising to you both.” Her face was obscured by a curtain of long, brown hair, so Bad and Good couldn’t see the expression, but the stranger’s tone made it sound like she was smiling with embarrassment. “I, uh, well, um…”

“ _Heh, trying the whole ‘young-and-new-at-this’ approach? As if we’d buy it,_ ” Bad scoffed.

“ _Did she say ‘you both?’_ ”

Bad let Good switch out. The stranger had turned away from them to pull on a pair of thin gloves that appeared to be made of reinforced fabric of some kind, so didn’t see the Cops’ eyes round out while their mouth set into a line instead of a snarl.

“I do hate to criticise you, but you’d be more effective if you got on with it and stopped trying to pretend like you’re not about to do terrible things to me with those instruments,” Good said in his light voice, nodding to the desk.

The torturer paused, looked at the desk, and then looked back at him. “But I’m not,” she said seriously, stepping over to him.

Now that Good could somewhat see through the curtain of dark hair streaked with grey, he noticed that the entire right half of her medium-brown face, from hairline reaching to the bottom of the neck, was marred with deep acid scars. The creepiest part was the hollow where the eye used to be, covered over by the eyelid, which was fused closed. Good was a professional, though, so only reacted with a slight contraction of his pupils. How had a Master Builder gotten such an injury? It certainly wasn’t from them or their robot police. It was probably irrelevant to their situation. If it was some kind of tactic or makeup to try to make this scenario creepier or to make a point, she wouldn’t be trying to hide it. He decided not to let it distract him from the game.

“Yes, I’m sure you just plan on giving us a little checkup,” he replied, with just the right amount of condescension and smile, “but we already have an excellent physician.”

The stranger interrupted his next line by bursting out laughing, her facial muscles stretching a portion of the scars. With that, she grabbed the edge of the sheet and yanked it dramatically away, causing enough of a sudden breeze to give him goosebumps. Rude, but certainly also nothing new in a torture scene. A sudden switch in demeanor was usually enough to gain some control back.

And so, Bad switched out and bared his teeth, eyes narrowing again. “Do your worst. I’ll never talk.”

“Yes, yes, you’re super scary,” the stranger drawled. “Too bad you’re tied to a bed with reinforced steel cables.” Not even slightly jarred by that. She was clearly starting to enjoy this, and hadn’t even picked up an instrument yet. This was definitely a cold, hard sadist, revealing itself from underneath the nervousness of a possible newbie.

Bad watched as the single eye looked his body over, as if wondering where to start. They’d been stripped of their civvies and left in just their black boxer-briefs. At least he wasn’t naked this time. He watched as the torturer’s eye lingered on the Unikitty wound scar on his lower torso before quickly looking away and at their latest set of scars.

“That’s new,” the sadist commented, reaching out and almost touching the curved line of marks, from where the shark had dug its teeth straight through their kevlar vest to puncture their skin. So this one had seen enough scars to be able to tell newer ones, then. Good casually mentioned to him that at least this one wasn’t complaining about her canvas already having paint on it and all that blabber.

“ _Oh look, she's already trying to get our hand off,_ ” drawled Good as she stuck long fingers under where the metal covered the connection between arm stump and prosthetic.

“Don’t even bother,” said Bad as she fiddled, ignoring the textured gloves rubbing somewhat uncomfortably against sensitive skin, “I’m the only one who can-”

With a click, the robotic hand released from his arm.

“Yes, you and your brother, and the one who built them.” She waved his hand at him and turned to set it on the desk with the instruments.

“What have you done with Doctor Manner?!” Bad snarled, struggling anew against the restraints. They hadn’t heard a single mention of the man in seven years. It was as if he hadn’t even existed, but those months of him tending to them, building their hand and single leg prosthetics, helping them get reacclimated after the explosion, the Cops could never forget. They’d assumed he’d just left without bothering to say goodbye or keep in touch, but if something had happened... 

The stranger turned to frown at him before lifting her head skywards in an “Oh!” expression. “I’m afraid he’s dead,” she said as she turned away to pull up a stool in front of the workbench. “Your boss killed him,” she added darkly.

“Why would Lord Business want to do that?” said Good, who had switched out. He more calmly tested the restraints keeping his handless arm down, but he still couldn’t get it free.

“I don’t have to explain anything to you,” she replied, a bit wetly. The stranger sat hunched over the workspace and began doing something with the robot hand, though Good couldn’t quite see what.

He remembered Doctor Frank Manner sitting with excellent posture as he led them through physical therapy, confident and friendly. They had always wondered why he would slump while he worked on one or more of their prosthetics, mumbling to himself. He’d figured the mumbling was just a habit, but what if…

“Excuse me,” Good said carefully, “but are you Doctor Manner?” He didn’t expect a response, and didn’t get one. “Only, not Doctor Frank Manner,” he said, loading his words with the question.

The stranger cursed as a small spring shot out of the hand and went flying. She opened a drawer on the desk to find a replacement. “What do you want from me?” she asked, shooting him a glare over her shoulder.

Bad switched out. “Hey, I’m the one tied to a mattress. I think I deserve some answers,” he snarled.

“You don’t even seem sure what your brother’s getting at,” she snapped back, still hunched over the prosthetic.

“Ha! So you are one of us!” said Good triumphantly. “No one knows we’re two different people except for Lord Business and our parents. Only someone like us could figure it out!” he said gleefully. “Not to mention you seem able to tell us apart, as if you’ve known us for a time.”

“What are you talking about?” Bad said, doing that thing they did when they were children and switching out back and forth to argue with each other.

“That is Doctor Manner’s body, but this is his twin,” explained Good.

“Seriously?! And he never told us?!”

“Well we never told him we’re two people either,” argued Good back.

“Obviously they figured us out first, so they should have told us,” Bad grumbled.

“Trust me, that would have been a bad idea,” said Doctor Manner’s twin, somewhat darkly.

“Why?” asked Good.

“I can’t explain, and that’s why you’re still tied to the bed. You have no reason to trust me, and I can’t really trust you because of it. If you can, just take my word for it right now.” Manner left it at that, refusing to even respond to any further questions. She spent about ten more minutes with that hand before attaching it back onto their arm.

“Okay, so if Frank is dead, how are you still here?” asked Bad this time, very hesitantly. He clenched his jaw after he asked one of the most important questions he and his twin had ever wondered about: was it really possible for one to die and the other to survive?

“That is definitely something I can’t explain to you,” was the assertive reply.

Good switched in before Bad could scream at their captor. “What he meant to say was that we’re sorry for your loss, Doctor.”

The twin looked at him for a few moments, and something softened in her face and shoulders. “It’s...a very specific circumstance, that killed just one of us. I’ll tell you that, I suppose. And I was never the doctor, that was all Frankie.” Frank’s sibling walked around the bed to unlatch the other hand. “I’m just an engineer.”

“So, you fronted whenever you were building these,” Good commented mildly, wiggling the fingers of the replaced hand. There didn’t seem to be much difference in movement from before she’d done whatever to it, but he couldn’t really tell from that position.

The twin shrugged in response as she hefted the second hand onto the workbench. “Sorry I wasn’t better company, not that ‘grumpy’ was all that talkative either."

Good chuckled. “His name is Bad Cop, and I’m Good Cop. Yes, yes, exactly like that old interrogation tactic. Old nicknames that stuck, and all that. Well, it sure is nice to talk to someone like us who understands all this so well!”

“Uh-huh,” replied the engineer, apparently not impressed by Good’s attempt at luring her into a more comfortable zone. She turned back to the hand and began working. “Still not untying you.”

“ _Ugh, here, you fronted more around her. You try._ ” Good gave Bad a mental nudge and initiated a switch, which Bad reluctantly went with. True, Bad would front more when they were hanging out in the workshop since Good did all the interactions when Frank would tend to them, but that didn’t mean he knew what to say to get her to release them.

“Why bother doing all this? What do you care about our limbs?” he gruffed.

The engineer paused, and then turned to look at him. He couldn’t fully see her expression, but he felt like he was being glared at. “Tell me, Bad,” she said, voice dark, “if your twin made you promise something, something to do with one of his life’s passions, would you make that promise?”

Bad stared at the engineer, managing to keep from switching in at the directness of her question. He floundered a bit before replying, “Yes.”

“Yes,” she repeated. “Now, if he made you make the same promise while he was being ripped away from you, if that was the last thing you ever heard from him, would you not do everything in your power to fulfill that promise?”

“Yes,” quicker this time.

The engineer nodded, seemingly satisfied. She turned back to the robotic hand. “Well, for some reason, Frankie thought of you two at the end. I guess he figured you needed help most of all, considering your position.”

“I don’t-” began Bad, but she interrupted him.

“I know, but let me do this.”

For once, Bad didn’t grumble or shoot anything back. He switched in and was silent for a while. Good stared at the ceiling, giving his twin a break and leaving him alone. He did his best to send comfort to him, but he was feeling uneasy himself. One of them could be killed, could leave the other alone. Alone. Really, truly, completely alone. And by the look of how this Manner turned out, it wasn’t pretty. She had clearly gone insane to be doing something like this, kidnapping them and not giving them a clear reason why. What was she planning, to need to alter their limbs in some way? Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to happen. She was obviously smart, but she was no captor. There would be an opening soon enough, and he would take it.

The engineer mumbled to herself while she checked out the second robotic hand, but Good didn’t catch any of the words. She avoided his gaze while she reattached it when she finished. It took her some doing to get the leg prosthetic free, but she managed and put it on the workbench.

“There,” said the engineer after some minutes, standing from her work on the leg and turning back to Good. “...Okay, there’s no way I’m trying to stuff this thing back under the restraints,” she said, laughing oddly. “And I still need to make sure everything works the way I want them to.”

“It’s okay, dearie, you can trust us,” he said with a reassuring smile.

“I know _you’re_ just going to punch me out and run for it,” she responded, crossing her arms. Good looked taken aback. No one ever assumed that of him, just of his violently explosive brother. Bad switched out after a moment.

“So she doesn’t trust you,” he grumbled. “I’d rather just let her finish her diagnostic thing and get out of here peacefully,” he added at Good’s complaint in their head.

“Yes, I’d like that, too,” said the engineer as she bent below the mattress to release the restraints. She stepped back and rose up cautiously in case he lunged at her, one hand slipped into one of the large pockets of the lab coat. 

Bad raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. He ignored Good’s yelling at him to attack her. Keeping an eye on her, he slowly moved to sit on the edge of the mattress. He held out his hands and held still to let her know she could do her checks safely. She took her gloves off and stepped a little closer, but not close enough that she wouldn’t have plenty of warning if he moved to grab her. She curtly guided him through a range of motions and clinically watched as the hands moved.

“Shit,” she mumbled when the left hand stuttered mid-rotation. Seeming to forget herself, she closed the distance between them to take the hand and press something deep and complex in the wrist, disconnecting just the hand part so she could check the machinery. She cursed again and tossed the hand onto the bed before reaching under the base of the prosthetic to completely remove the rest of it, bare fingers pressing into his human arm.

Bad failed to hold in the gasp that escaped his chest as she held his arm up and glared closely at the little metal node poking out. His heart quickened as the soft pads of her fingertips gently traced around the very end of the stump, setting his sensitive nerve endings on fire. The metal cords running along the bone and out the end to connect to the prosthetics felt nothing, but the skin itself hadn’t been touched by human hands in years.

“Does that hurt?” asked the woman, though the quirk of her mouth and the amusement in her tone showed that she knew what he was reacting about.

Blood flushed to his face and he pressed his lips together, corners pulled inward in a pouting frown. He said nothing, but she smiled at him and respectfully let go of his arm.

“I do need to clean those connector nodes,” she said, “but I could wear gloves if you want.” She paused, waiting for a proper answer. Good was sulkily remaining silent, so didn’t say if he thought she was being sincere, but Bad thought she sounded more kind than anything else. Either way, he knew he really wanted her to keep touching him, and she needed to finish the repairs either way, so he might as well enjoy it while he had this chance. After all, it wasn’t like she hadn’t done this for them before, he realized.

“You can leave them off,” he grumbled in the end.

“Sure,” she replied, finally turning to grab a couple things from the desk. Bad recognized the instruments more easily, since they had a set of their own, and relaxed his shoulders a bit. He still wasn’t sure he could trust her, since seven years was a very long time. Was this the same person who considerately made the limbs too difficult to take off if one didn’t know how, something the Cops and even Lord Business hadn’t thought of? Was she capable of kidnapping them just to do a kindness, to fix up their limbs so they worked perfectly again? He remembered the gleam of warm pride in brown eyes as they watched his hand move at his command for the first time, a voice defensively telling Lord Business the set would be perfect as promised. Months of work, stuck in Octan Tower with the Cops and a bunch of robots, but the Manners never complained.

“You said before that Lord Business killed Doctor Manner,” he started, though his eyelids fluttered slightly as she ran her hand from his elbow to a bit further up to grasp his arm and raise it, instead of asking him to raise it like her twin (or even she...) used to do. He looked closely at what he could see of her face, but she didn’t seem to react to his words. From this angle, she really did look familiar, with her thin, brown face and the fire in her eye. “I’m not going to ask what happened. What I am asking is, did he mean to specifically kill the doctor, or was he trying to kill you both?”

Her working hand, which was holding what looked like a long metal q-tip, paused. “Hard to say,” she finally said, “Frankie seemed to know something was up, but he never said anything.” She stared at the tool she was holding, but didn’t do anything with it. “I can’t even guess what Business was trying to do to us. I wish we never had anything to do with him and his stupid world!” She grimaced. “I was hoping to keep you from even seeing me, but you just had to shake off the drugs that fast. I mean, you are fatter than before, but still!”

“We built up an immunity,” he responded in a mumble, frowning in thought. “Occupational necessity. So, how’d you end up here?”

“EMP gun.” She shrugged one shoulder as if that explained it. “I’ve managed to keep his scouts off my tail with some tech. He gave up trying to hunt me down a while ago, I think, so I’ve just been hiding out here. Nothing else I can do, really.”

Bad nodded. He sullenly watched her fingers nimbly replace that hand and remove the other to check the second node. “Officially, there’s no arrest warrant out for anyone with your description.” She clearly wasn’t following the rules, but it wouldn’t be right to take her in after all she and her brother had done for them. The cameras and sensors would target her eventually. She would be rehabilitated, just like everyone else.

The woman smiled a bit and nodded. “That, and if you were going to try to arrest me, I could still tase you.” Apparently finished with talking, she fell silent and distant, focusing on her work.

“ _I know what you’re thinking, but when the boss finds out about this, we’re going to be in serious trouble,_ ” said Good irritably.

“You know we’re being tracked,” said Bad to the engineer, knowing Good was right.

She raised an eyebrow at him as if to say “Duh, I knew that,” and actually said, “Directly above my hideout is somewhere that wouldn’t be surprising for you to visit. I won’t tell you where, or in what realm, of course, but that’s where your tracker will say you went today. The Computer won’t care.”

“ _And how do we know she didn’t do something to our limbs? Who knows what she added!_ ” Good pointed out.

“I can practically hear you two fighting in there,” she commented, giving a faraway half-smile. She finished cleaning and put the prosthetic back. This time, when he rotated the hand, it moved smoothly. Satisfied at his hands, she sat on the bed about a foot away from him and propped his thigh up on hers to clean that node. So much for not trusting them, even if she was armed.

“ _If you think she did something, then you can check later. I don’t think she’s being dishonest, though,_ ” Bad said to Good as he grit his teeth to suppress a shudder at the next assault on his nerve endings. It was jarring, all the stimulation by the q-tip running around the node and brushing along the soft scar tissue. They usually stuck with soap, water, and maybe a washcloth to clean their stumps, in too much of a hurry in the mornings and too tired in the evenings to do this more detailed work.

“ _You’re just saying that because you’ve got a hard-on for her,_ ” Good taunted, though they both knew that wasn’t quite true. Lord Business’s hormonal suppressors spread everywhere and spared no one.

“ _Shut up, I didn’t say I trusted her,_ ” Bad said anyways.

“ _Did too._ ”

His heart was sped up, even during his admittedly childish argument with his twin. His senses were being overwhelmed by the engineer taking her time with her task. She was using her other hand to hold his thigh still, fingertips pressing against flesh that rarely saw the light of day. He was beginning to sweat. He kept his teeth clenched shut as she finished the cleaning and used both hands to move his thigh off her lap.

Good switched out to say something, but he ended up falling backwards, not prepared for the rush of endorphins he hadn’t been paying attention to from his mindspace. He panted slightly, internally scolding Bad for letting himself get worked up like this, before pursing his lips and smoothly sitting back up again. He smiled sunnily at the woman, who jumped off the bed and stepped back when she realized it was him.

“I don’t think you should be playing with him like that,” he said cheerily, still smiling. This was the only time he could protect his brother from being manipulated, as he was forced to grin and bear it in front of Lord Business, so he relished the opportunity. “Even if you did kidnap us to fulfill your little promise, don’t think that means you can work it to your advantage.” He hoisted himself smoothly into a standing position and rotated on the ball of his foot to sit in the wheeled stool. He pushed himself over to the worktable so he wouldn’t have to do an embarrassing hop to get to his leg. “Whatever it is you want from us, I can’t just let you take it like that.” He easily picked up the leg with one hand, propped it foot-first onto the ground, and pulled it to latch it onto his thigh. He moved it around a bit to test it before placing both feet on the floor and standing up, looking at her. “So, what did you do to our limbs?” he asked, still smiling. “Audio bug?” He took a step towards her, ignoring the taser gun she was pointing at him. “Or did you just give yourself access to their motion controls?”

“I want nothing from you. I should never have even brought you here,” snapped the woman with a snarl, eye wide. She was holding the taser gun with both hands, straight out in front of her. “I told him we should have never taken that job. Business is crazy, he’s a monster!” Her face twitched in multiple places from her mix of anger and fear.

Good just watched her, letting her unravel her own defenses. She didn’t seem to have any information of interest to them, though, so he didn’t let her stand there for long. He took a big step forward and grabbed her hands, crushing the taser easily between them. It did shoot a jolt of electricity, but their hands were designed to block those from getting to their brain, so he barely even registered it was there. He ignored the burn that resulted on his arms where they met the prosthetics. The engineer screamed, though, as the taser burned and probably even cut into her hands with sharp shards. She dropped it and Good took another large step to get right up into her space.

“Don’t come after us again,” he said, voice still even and light, as he grabbed her neck and squeezed to restrict the blood flow to her brain. She clawed at his hand, clearly trying to get to where she could detach it, but she was unable to focus long enough. Blood smeared onto the metal. He let her sink to the floor when she hit unconsciousness, not doing more damage than needed.

“She’s not wrong,” he said conversationally to his brother as he checked her pockets. Bad didn’t respond, vehemently refusing to, but he knew he was listening. “I wish you would see that Lord Business isn’t very trustworthy.” Good found nothing of interest, just a few odds and ends, so he straightened and began hunting for their clothes. They were folded on a nearby stool and he shook them out carefully before putting them on. Their glasses were on another workbench, next to various metal things. He kept the aviators flipped up to his forehead. “I don’t think we need to tell him about this,” he said, changing the subject to more important matters, “She’s not a Master Builder and he’s no longer looking for her, meaning she’s not a threat. If she did plant something on us, we’ll find it easily enough.” He checked his pockets and, satisfied everything was there, went back over to the engineer to check on her. Her pulse and breathing were steady.

“Could at least put her on the mattress,” Bad grumbled, switching out. He hoisted her easily into his arms and frowned a bit at the blooming bruises on her neck.

“ _No need to be growly at me,_ ” whined Good, “ _I was just trying to get us out of here._ ”

Bad settled her on the mattress and quickly turned to head for the exit.


	2. The Cops Return to the Basement Lair

A few months and a new wound later, the Cops found themselves flying out to the little spy tech store just outside Bricksburg City. Manner’s hideout was hilariously close to the City’s Commercial District, of all places, which made Bad roll his eyes at the incompetence of the robot scouts. He scratched around the gash, bandages itching like mad.

“Hey, easy with that. Don’t want to break the stitches again,” said Good, switching out to put both hands on the wheel. “And are you sure this is a good idea? I didn’t exactly leave her in the best of moods,” he added nervously.

“Just let me do the talking,” said Bad, switching back out and squeezing the wheel against the urge to scratch. 

“ _Well, isn’t this backwards._ ”

“Tell me about it.”

Bad landed the ship out of sight of the spy shop, and grabbed his crushed leg prosthetic from next to him. He slipped out of the vehicle and strapped the prosthetic to his back, and then grabbed his crutches. He made his way around the back of the shop, moving silently as he could, to where the basement doorway lay in the ground. 

He had reached the door when he suddenly lost all control of his hands, causing them to go limp. The crutches fell to the ground and he wobbled for a moment before landing hard on his arse.

The basement doors flew open, revealing the engineer, who was pointing a blaster at him. “Hiya, guys, thanks for the nerve damage,” she said, glaring daggers. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, so they could finally see her face clearly. The scars were prominent and grotesque, as he’d seen before, but her face had simple, delicate features that would look boring on anyone but her. Her single eye was brown and the light showed that her hair was a darker brown with grey streaks running through. There was no question, this was definitely the person they remembered, only...different.

He raised his arms, hands flopped down, in surrender. “We need to talk.”

He watched as her eye shot from his face to his legless thigh and back again. “You _want_ my help now?”

“We have an identity for you. We found a missing person report from the Old West that’s a few months old. She’s a bit too tall, and blonde, but she has similar facial scars and no one besides her coworkers ever asked about her. It should be safe to use her identity in Bricksburg.”

She stared hard at him, before groaning a bit and lowering the blaster. “Wow. He really- You really- Oh fine, come on in.” She pressed a button on the wall just inside the door and he was able to move his hands again. She stepped down into her workshop, not turning her back on him, and slid the blaster into her lab coat pocket.

Bad grabbed the crutches and stood, adjusting the leg on his back. He followed her in and jumped when the doors slammed shut behind him.

“Put it on the bench,” she said, nodding towards the workbench. “So, did I put anything weird in your stupid limbs last time?” she spat, arms crossed.

He took the straps off the prosthetic and placed it on the worktop. “No, they were clean. We never thanked you for fixing them up. They, erm, don’t lock up anymore. So, thank you.”

Good switched out. “I apologize greatly for how I acted last time. I just wanted to protect my brother. You of all people can understand,” he said very quickly, knowing the engineer would probably cut him off if he didn’t get everything out at once.

She nodded. “Yeah, I guess I of all people can understand. Well, have a seat, and I’ll see if I can fix your- dear god, man, what did you do to it?” She stepped briskly to the worktop and turned the leg over, examining the damage.

Good sat on the edge of the bed and watched her look at the leg. When she turned it back, he noticed that her middle, ring, and pinkie fingers on her left hand had been replaced by simple prosthetics that didn't quite match her medium skin tone, and both hands were covered in electricity scars.

She glanced over her shoulder to see why he didn’t answer, and followed his gaze to her left hand. She wiggled her fingers at the knuckle and looked back at him. “Get over it,” she said, not meanly, “I said I forgive you.” The joints of the fake fingers themselves didn’t bend, indicating they were regular prosthetics instead of robotic ones. Good shrugged and switched back in. At least the bruises on her throat were long gone.

“There’s a Master Builder called Metalbeard,” Bad said, going back to her question, “He invaded Octan Tower some years ago, and was torn apart. He somehow survived and rebuilt himself with ship parts. He swiped at me, knocked me over, and stomped on my leg. I don’t think he realized that one’s fake.”

The engineer looked at the crushed prosthetic again. “He has a weird lean to him,” she said thoughtfully, “I can tell by the angle of the impact.”

“He lumbers and has a limp,” Bad agreed, scratching at the bandages again. The itch was especially nasty where the laceration arched over their belly.

“Shoddy,” she said, pulling her toolbox out from under the workbench and opening it on a little side table. “That’s the thing about Master Builders, though; they can build these great, amazing things that hold together just enough, and they don’t have to worry about something small not making it work right. Me? One screw too loose, one wire not connected properly, and the whole thing falls apart.” She laid out a bunch of tools and pulled up her stool to get to work. “And yet they decide to make huge pieces of junk instead of, you know, something useful.”

Bad pulled out his phone and checked his messages; there were none. He briefly considered messaging their parents, but decided not to as usual. The less they knew about the danger their sons got into, the better. Besides, it was late and they would definitely be asleep.

“The shell stayed in the same shape, this panel just just got forced down onto everything else and crushed the machinery inside,” commented the engineer. “You’re lucky; my equipment isn't anywhere near good enough to reshape this alloy.” She struggled a bit with getting the front plating free, but managed and dropped it dismissively onto the floor. She then started digging around inside and pulling parts out of it. It was weird to watch, since it was his leg.

“This is like being awake during surgery,” Good joked, giving Bad a break. Their wound was sore and the drugs they were on to combat infection and lessen the pain made them a bit woozy.

She glanced back at him, a bit on edge, but she shook herself out of it. “I think waking up during surgery would be a bit more terrifying than watching a mechanic work on a robotic leg,” she said back.

Good didn’t really have a response to that. He stretched back on the mattress. “So, now that you have a new identity, what will you do? I saw the spy shop has a ‘Help wanted’ sign. You could make gadgets.”

Manner continued on the limb, moving quickly and efficiently. “I already make all the gadgets. They just think they’re being sent from another manufacturer, but I intercept the mail orders.”

“Sneaky,” complimented Good. “Not very legal, but what can you do?”

They were silent for a little while, a bit awkward but not unexpectedly so. In fact, it soon felt familiar, as they had actually done this before, she working while the Cops rested nearby. It was strange.

“I do admire your tenacity in fulfilling your promise,” said Good after a little while, the forced politeness replaced by a quiet sincerity. The woman didn’t respond, so he dropped the matter. Frank really was missing, it felt like, a gaping hole where half the conversing used to be.

An hour passed, and then another, and Good found himself falling asleep. They had gotten there just after sunset and fresh from getting countless stitches and a lot of blood replaced, after all.

Bad woke up around midnight to the smell of coffee brewing. Manner had moved from the workbench, where it looked like the leg had exploded all over the surface, to a little kitchenette in the back of the room. He retrieved his crutches from next to the bed and headed over. The light from the kitchenette illuminated the rest of the hideout better. There was the bed, the kitchenette, a dresser, and the workbench and chair for furniture, and then boxes and a couple bookcases full of various parts and books that would be useful to an engineer, probably. That was all that made up the hideout where she had apparently been living for about seven years. It was all pretty jumbled and impersonal, more a base than a residence. It reminded him of the recovery wing.

“Leg’ll take all night to finish,” said Manner as she leaned against the little counter while the coffee finished brewing.

He leaned the crutches and then himself against the wall opposite her. “Sorry to take up your night.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “I work at night and sleep during the day anyways. And it’s nice to work on something more complex than a cheap voice recorder.”

“Do you do anything besides spy gadgets?” he asked, since her work appeared to be a safe subject to talk about.

She shrugged again as the coffeemaker beeped, signalling it was done. “Not really. I tried offering my services by mail to the Prosthesis Organization, but there’s no way they were going to let me send them stuff anonymously,” she said dryly. She grabbed two mugs off the shelf and filled them.

“You could do it with your new alias,” he offered, shaking his head at her offer at milk and sugar. He accepted the mug with a grunted thanks.

“I guess,” she replied, adding sugar and milk to her own mug. “I doubt your alias has any kind of certifications in the field, though.”

Good switched out. “Oh, that’s easy enough to take care of,” he said cheerily. “You should work in your field. You’re really good at it,” he added.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she said, but her mouth did quirk up with a hint of a smile. “I’ll think about it.” They couldn’t tell if she was serious or not. “My name’s Alice, by the way.”

Alice quickly finished her coffee and went back to work. The Cops ended up falling asleep again without drinking much of theirs, since they had to head back early and finish their report in the morning. Painkillers usually made them drowsy, so that had to be the reason they were even able to fall asleep in this strange place. Then again, they had been used to sleeping in the Manners' presence all those years ago, so maybe their subconscious remembered.

Alice woke them up with a familiar shake of their shoulder and immediately jumped back as Bad thrashed at her. She didn't hide her amused smile as he blinked dully, his hair sticking up everywhere and his shirt riding up.

“What time is it?” he asked, yawning.

“Four-thirty. I figured you’d want to head back soon, and your leg’s done.”

Opening his eyes after his yawn, he noticed she was looking down at his stomach, where the bandages were visible. He tugged the shirt up further and touched one pointer finger at where the laceration started, up on their chest, and the other finger where it ended on their stomach.

“Sword.”

“I thought you’d wear a riot vest or something when it came to fighting Master Builders.” She raised an eyebrow.

“We do have a vest, but we weren’t wearing it at the time. His ship caught us off-guard,” Bad countered, pulling the shirt back over the bandages. He sat up and shifted himself onto Alice’s work stool, which she’d put by the bed for him to use. He pulled the fixed prosthetic off the workbench and fitted it back onto the end of his thigh. He gave it a few experimental kicks, rotated the ankle, and wiggled the toes. It was perfect.

“It better be perfect with the amount of replacement parts I had to dig out of my stores,” said Alice. Bad hadn’t realized he’d said that last part out loud. “Not like they were going to much use anyways,” she added with a shrug.

Bad stood up and dug an envelope from his pocket. “Here’s your new alias,” he said stiffly, handing it to her. She stared at it for a moment before accepting it with a nod.

“Might as well come back if something isn’t working right,” she said. “Those robots are terrible with the detail work.”

A few weeks later, they got a package in the mail from one Maddie Stein. Inside the box was a custom laser pistol. Bad picked it up and realized it was the same grey metal as their prosthetics. He immediately popped it open to check its mechanism, and a folded note fell out of the empty chamber.

_This is better against armor than that pea-shooter you have. It also has a steady laser beam function for those pesky stomping ship-parts legs. Be careful.  
P.S. Forgot to tell you, lined your helmet with something that’ll block EMP blasts and similar stuff. Call it a peace offering, since now I can’t deactivate your limbs anymore._


	3. Alice Appreciates the Small Victories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perspective switches back and forth from chapter to chapter, but not in a regular pattern. I realized Bad isn't the greatest narrator for this chapter, since he's a little...woozy.

The sun had almost finished setting by the time the debris from the destroyed monolith had finished falling around the city. Master Builders were running wild, dancing and celebrating while old music blasted from makeshift sound systems scattered around on street corners. They’d also been using their magic to keep the debris to the sides, so the people filling the streets weren’t crushed. Flying Master Builders were finishing up with the Kragle antidote, pouring it onto encased citizens throughout the city. Everyone else, citizen and Master Builder alike, danced, ululated, anything to let out their absolute joy at being free.

In an alley, a safe distance from the neighborhood where the great battle had taken place, a woman with blonde hair and large sunglasses sat crouched next to a clean, fresh-smelling garbage dumpster. She was frowning as she focused on the tablet computer in her scarred hands.

“Take off the stupid helmet, you bag of assholes,” she grumbled below her breath, tapping irritatedly at the screen. “I need to find you, dammit. Ugh, the one time I have an opportunity to feed into the cameras without getting myself caught, and they turn them all off.” How ridiculous. She’d attached the tech in that helmet to shield the stupid Cops from electric signals on a whim that one morning, while she’d been waiting for the right moment to wake them up. And, like everything that had happened around those men so far, it had turned out to bite her in the ass.

She sighed and stuffed the tablet into her chunky, admittedly-ugly yellow purse and stood. “Guess I’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.” She huffed in a breath and, before she could change her mind, ripped off the sunglasses and stuffed them into a side pocket of the purse. Immediately, her brown skin went from apparently smooth and flawless to what it really was: horribly acid-scarred on the right side, from hairline to down her neck. Her hollow eye socket was covered over by a tan eyepatch. Her nose shrank and her cheekbones sharpened slightly. The technology in her sunglasses mimicked that of the robots planted throughout the realms to spy on citizens for Lord Business and keep them in check. With the tech on, she looked like any average citizen (well, more so than usual, other than her scars), and people didn’t give her a second glance. However, there were no longer security cameras or robots to recognize her, so she figured she was safe. That, and she actually wanted her target to recognize her this time.

“Now, if I were the Cops, where would I go.” She hurriedly swept most of her blonde wig forward to cover that side of her face, since she still didn’t want the general populace to notice her and freak out. She stepped slowly to the mouth of the alley, like a timid cat slinking out from its hideout. She adjusted the large purse. The weight of it digging into her shoulder helped ground her, solidified her task at hand, why she was out of her safe, secure house when everything was going insane.

She poked her head out of the alley and looked both ways before stepping out onto the sidewalk. Everyone was too caught up in what they were doing to notice her. Just as well, she was used to that. She took a moment to get her bearings, ready to flee at any indication of someone looking her way and reacting.

Master Builders, what was up with Master Builders? All she knew were basic rumours most citizens knew: they were chaotic, was the main thing, and were also haughty and self-centered and didn’t give a flying fuck about anyone but themselves and their own amusement. The thought of that gave Alice some confidence, made her square her shoulders somewhat. Then again, here they were, out of hiding for the first time in almost a decade, and what they were mainly doing was helping out. They were even somewhat interacting with citizens, or it at least looked that way. Well, they were interacting with citizens who were trying their hand at matter-manipulation, which was going on with some mixed results. None of them were paying attention to the woman standing awkwardly on the sidewalk.

“God, what if they killed them already?” Alice mumbled to herself, her lips barely moving. It didn’t help the fear that was prickling like claws at the back of her neck. She worked her jaw as she glanced up and around at the large television monitors on the buildings, which had already been turned off along with all the cameras and robots. “Though, they are supposedly forgiving Business, I guess? Will they do the same for the Cops? Ugh, I don’t have time for this. Either way, I need to find the bastards.” She steeled herself, pushing away the fear to make way for the fire in her head, the determination to move forward.

She scratched her head, and turned her torso in different directions as she contemplated her options. “Outer Bricksburg and the Countryside are that way. Old Bricksburg is that way. The Commercial District is this street, and the Residential one is more that way. Judging from how they were about it eight years ago, the weirdos probably didn’t head for the country because that’s where their parents are. Guess I’ll start with the Commercial District and spread out from there, since it’s closest.” There was a possibility her target would be there, since spending years at the Tower would make similar office buildings something familiar. What they would be doing there, exactly, she had no idea. Then again, she thought with a sigh, she had no idea what they’d be doing anywhere at this point. All she could do was guess. Hello hopelessness, her old friend… Fuck off.

She turned and began furiously making her way down the street, sticking close to the buildings to stay out of the way of zoomy Master Builders and swarms of citizens. She kept her head down, practice keeping her from bumping into anything or anyone, and made herself look as small as possible. The noise level was giving her a headache, especially with the pounding beats of the music. If those Cops were smart, they’d be far away from this shit. Hell, if she were smart...

Alice saw the giant cube statue long before she saw the fountain’s base. This was at the edge of the massive party, with only a couple groups of friends scattered around the courtyard of the main Commercial square. Skyscrapers blocked her view of the purpling sky, except for a sliver where the buildings parted so the road could continue. Approaching the sterile fountain, Alice eased her pace, forcing herself to conserve her energy so she could keep going steadily for as long as it took to find them. Instead of continuing on past the fountain, however, Alice froze when she got close enough and saw who was sitting at its edge.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Despite her sharp tone, she was filled with relief at her luck, sweet as the sound of a group of robots falling dead to the ground. She’d expected to be searching all night, might not’ve even found them at all, and yet there they were after only about twenty minutes of walking! She quickened her pace, but slowed down and stopped when she was a few feet away. Better not spook them, knowing Bad’s violent reactions to things and Good’s... well, her hands still stung at the memory.

It was strange to see them in uniform in real life, as opposed to in quick snippets during news reports. Solid, bulky, quite an intimidating presence. Not that they weren’t those things out of uniform, considering their physique, but this was a person with actual power as opposed to merely a very, very strong man. It would’ve made Alice hesitate to approach, but one look at how limply he was sitting completely erased that. If it weren’t for the noise, she would’ve thought he was asleep. 

She quickly glanced around, noted that no one was paying him any attention (and were probably avoiding him, which was much better than the alternative), and stepped even closer to lean down slightly and get his attention. She swallowed a lump in her throat and squeezed the strap of her purse more tightly at the sight of the bandages peeking out under the mirrored aviators, reaching to his chin. She’d hoped she hadn’t seen that right, in that Master Builder’s broadcast earlier when the young woman had shown a few clips of him chasing down the Special and his team, but here was the solid proof. The overthrowing of Business had come too late. One of them was gone.

“Hey,” she said gently, but loudly enough that he could hear her over the din. He hadn’t reacted at all when she came into view, and she wondered if he was passed out. Panic seized her and she had to reassure herself that he was definitely breathing, as her own breath caught in her throat. “Hey,” she said louder, more urgently.

Finally, his entire body twitched and he looked up, clearly startled. With a trembling hand, he reached up and flipped the aviator lenses up to reveal the clear, round glasses they were attached to. Alice let out the breath she'd been holding. It didn’t seem like he was waking up, merely noticing her at last. And oh, his eye! The bandages were wrapped carefully around his right eye so he could see. He could see. His eye was intact, and he was even able to blink as well. His gaze was a bit dazed, though, as if he couldn’t quite focus on her. His pale white face was flushed red and shiny with sweat. He stared at her for a beat before slowly, shakily pulling the corners of his mouth into a wide, wavering smile.

“C-can I help you?” he asked with a strange cheeriness, considering his posture. His voice was light and odd, almost cartoonish, and she couldn’t for the life of her tell which brother was fronting. It could’ve easily been Good, since the voice was higher and less gravelly and his face was more slack and his eyes wide, but something was very off about him.

No, wait. It clicked when she realized there was tension pulling his face down and how unnaturally he was holding his eyes wide; the muscles in his face were shaking with the effort. The voice was pitched wrong, too, and she felt drenched in sorrow that she’d figured out why.

“Bad?” she asked, eyebrows scrunched together sympathetically. She leaned forward a bit more to get a better look at him, and let him get a better view of her. “Is that you?”

His face shifted into its natural position for him and she could see she was right: Bad had been trying to pretend to be Good. Alice’s eye burned with unshed tears, but she forced back her reaction for his sake. He couldn’t get Good back, even if he was desperate enough to try to bring him out in this way. Did he know the one who was closer to him than a twin brother was gone permanently? Oh god, did she have to be the one to tell him? The horror at this notion filled her throat with shards of ice, and she cursed herself for being so selfish. She would do what she had to, for his sake.

He scowled and blinked furiously a few times as he forced himself to focus on her face. “Alice?” he slurred in his lower, gruffer voice when he realized who she was. He squeezed his eyes shut, cringing in pain. His head must've been splitting. She wondered how fresh the wound was. 

“Come on, let’s get you somewhere quiet. What’re you even doing out here?” Alice waited for him to open his eyes again before she offered him a hand up. They were far too exposed in the square, and people would probably start paying attention now that a random citizen was talking to the infamous Bad Cop.

“Nowhere else to go,” he replied wetly. He took her hand but pushed himself to his feet, flipping the aviators back down. He said something about Superman and his parents’ house (she couldn’t hear him very well), but was cut off as the next song came on. He stopped and huffed in a breath, cringing again and touching his fingertips to his forehead. It had a faster, louder beat than the last.

“Come on,” Alice repeated, though her voice was lost in the noise. She tugged his hand and headed down the street in the direction she’d been going before, away from the festivities. He followed her like a horse, silent and steady but often tugging in a somewhat different direction. He couldn’t even walk straight. Alice slowed down, holding firmly onto his hand and taking his arm with her other hand as well. She patiently guided him, letting him set the pace. He didn’t even seem to be watching where they were going. Alice decided to wait to think too far into that. At least he didn’t seem to mind how hard she was gripping onto him, since she couldn’t quite get herself to calm down. This helped, a bit, assuring herself of his presence.

They walked almost three blocks before the noise was low enough that Alice wouldn’t have to yell to be heard. “Hang on, I recognize this place. We used to lecture at this university sometimes.” Alice paused at the large, old, brick building. “I’m surprised it’s-Woah, hey!” Apparently stopping had been a terrible idea, because Bad ended up stumbling into her. He was heavy, but luckily wasn’t quite falling over just yet. He grabbed the black, cast iron fence that surrounded the building to catch himself. There was no way she would’ve been able to catch him without falling over herself, but she stretched her arm out around his back anyways to help steady him.

“Sorry,” he said shortly. He rubbed his unbandaged eye and leaned sideways against the fence, almost casually as if he were trying to make it look like he wasn’t in a weakened state. Prey, trying to ward off predators.

“It’s okay. Let’s stop inside so you can cool off.” She could feel the heat radiating off him. The sun was down and the stale city air was just beginning to cool, but it was hot in the summer and he was wearing layers of black leather jacket and god knows what else. And if his own body heat was managing to penetrate all those layers so her hand could feel it, that was trouble. “I doubt anyone’s in here right now.” She gave his arm a little tug, trying to act calm so as not to make him retreat further in defense, but she knew they had to hurry. He straightened and followed her through the open gate and into the unlocked building, through a door off to the side.

They found themselves in a classic lecture hall, the room sloping down to the presenter’s stage. The streetlights shone through the many windows, illuminating the room enough that they could see without turning on the lights. They quickly made their way down the steps to the coolest part of the room, the bottom, when Bad’s strength seemed to give. He slipped out of her grasp and onto to the ground in a controlled collapse, and sat against the wall, breathing hard.

“Hang on,” said Alice, crouching near him and pulling her tablet computer out of her bag. This room was the last place someone would come looking for him, but she hadn’t evaded Business’s grasp for this long without being thorough. He remained still as she tapped at the screen, which didn’t help the worry that was niggling at her. She had to hope it was because he trusted her. “Oh hey, no one followed us,” she said, keeping her voice light. Nothing was happening tech-wise in the entire city. No sensors, no robots, cameras, no microphones, nada. It was like breaking free from the river onto the clear, dry shore. Alice found she could almost breathe.

“The Master Builders’ll be coming for me soon,” Bad slurred in a low voice. His accent was thicker, less controlled. He sounded resigned, as well as exhausted. She could give him the rest of her attention now, at least. She wished she could see his eyes, which weren’t as expressive as Good’s but would still give her something besides subtle body language to work from.

“Probably not tonight. They’re too busy celebrating and cleaning up all that Krackle stuff.” Alice unclipped his helmet and carefully pulled it off his head. Bad’s hair was soaked with sweat. He tilted his head back to rest it against the cool brick, but leaned it forward to watch her unzip his jacket.

“Kragle,” he corrected. His brain seemed to be catching up. He sat up to shuck off his jacket, and then quickly began unbuttoning his long-sleeved uniform shirt before she could start. The black fabric was darker still under his arms from sweat, but nowhere else. Alice saw why when he’d unbuttoned half of it and revealed he was wearing a thick armoured vest underneath.

“Holy fuck, how have you not passed out from heat sickness yet?” She rushed to feel at his neck and along his face to his forehead with the back of her hand, and then dove for her bag. His skin was still flushed and hot, but she had no real way of knowing how high his body temperature had gotten without a thermometer. Had she packed one? Of all the stupid, useless things she knew she’d stuffed into her purse, she couldn’t remember if she had!

He shot her a disapproving frown. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“No,” she snapped quickly to shut him up. “Are you feeling disoriented or sick at all?”

“I’m fine,” he snapped back at her, unhelpfully avoiding the question. Typical. He proved himself wrong when he unthinkingly tried to switch in and ended up almost doubling over in pain, fingers curling against the kevlar.

“I know, I know,” she soothed after taking a breath, her irritation at him fading. She took over unclasping the sides of the armoured vest so she could get it off him. The tank top style undershirt he was wearing under it was completely soaked. He gasped a bit as he was freed from the weight, and managed to pull his arms free of the layers so he was left in just the undershirt. He hesitated before peeling that off as well, revealing reddened white skin, thick muscle and a little paunch, flattened damp body hair, and distinct scars.

Alice pulled two water bottles from her purse and unscrewed the cap off one of them. “Drink this slowly,” she said, handing it to him. He immediately obeyed, and she decided not to think too deeply into how well he responded to direct orders. He polished off the entire bottle within minutes while Alice dug angrily in her bag for a thermometer. The second he poured on his head, down his neck, and over his shoulders, gasping a bit. He used his uniform shirt to dry himself off. Once that was dealt with, Alice finally found the stupid little plastic tube and held it out for him to put into his mouth

He sighed, flipped the aviators up to see it better in the dim light, and accepted it. He stuck it grumpily under his tongue like an unruly child, all sulks and crossed arms. Alice heard the telltale clicking of his teeth moving against it, but decided not to call him out on it. She would take all the small victories she could get.

The silence of the wait began to get to him. He began squirming against the wall, tension pulsing off him like a heartbeat. He avoided her gaze, but she could see how wide his eyes were getting through the round, clear lenses. He finally looked up at the entrance, all the way at the top of the room, and he snuffed in a breath as if he’d just been stabbed. It was cracked slightly, since neither of them had bothered pushing it properly closed.

Alice put her hand on his arm, just above the metal, and gave it a squeeze. He twitched, but then relaxed slightly. With her other hand, she felt his neck and face again. He was already feeling much better, less like a freshly-boiled lobster and more like an only somewhat-overheated person. “No one’s coming after us. I have a device that’ll vibrate if someone does.” She slipped her cell phone from her pocket, which was indeed formatted in that way, and placed it on his thigh. “Besides, they forgave Business; they’ll surely forgive you as well.”

She nabbed the thermometer from his mouth when he turned his head toward her. His temperature was a couple clicks high, but nothing to worry about. She stuffed the tube back into her purse, smiling both in relief and to reassure him that they were safe. He, however, stared at her for a moment before shaking his head and looking up at the door again. Alice’s smile fell. That face, hopeless, empty, scared, she knew that face. She’d worn it herself, years ago, so close to dying in an alien, horrid world she’d inherited so late in life. Hopeless.

“Yes, they will,” Alice replied with as much conviction as she could muster. “Since when do Master Builders care about citizens? They’ll all be too caught up in running around free again to care about killing you,” she added with just a hint of her desperation coming through.

“We hunted them, tortured them, killed them sometimes,” he said quietly, voice hollow. She felt her heart dive down into that hole. “I’m pretty sure they’ll care enough to find me and get their revenge.” He flexed his hands against the carpet, as if out of habit, or possibly self-comfort.

“I didn’t spend all that effort on these limbs for a bunch of Master Builders to nullify it all. I expect you to live a very long life.” She picked up his hand and placed it palm-up on her knee, somewhat roughly to get him to pay attention. “You can’t give up,” she added more seriously, fighting the strain in her own voice. Her stomach was beginning to churn from that old image of him lying on that operating table, drenched in his own blood, almost dead from that bomb. She’d ended up working so hard, not to keep him alive that day, but to later give him the ability to have his life back.

He didn’t say anything. He looked down at the hand on her lap and wiggled the fingers slightly, examining it more closely. His gaze was still dull, but perhaps he was mulling her words over. She wanted to shake him, but put up a wall and forced herself to be patient.

After a few minutes, he took his hand back, giving her no clues as to how her words had affected him. Great. He yawned and flinched when it irritated the burns, and she realized that this wasn’t the time to work on his emotional state. She glanced up at the door, trying to be subtle so he didn’t notice and freak out again. She didn’t see any movement in the glow cast from the streetlights. There was no reason anyone would’ve come to the university, especially on this day at this hour.

“We should probably head out soon. My car’s nearby; I could drive you home if you want, or you could come visit my house. I’ll make dinner,” she babbled, selfishly hoping he didn’t want to go to his parents’ house. Then again, she wondered what that relationship was like, for him and his brother to not have wanted to see them after the explosion all those years ago.

He glanced sideways at her and nodded before bundling up his shirts onto the vest. He stood carefully, using the wall just a bit for support, before hefting the bundle under his arm. Alice rose as well, neatly lining up the empty water bottles against the wall and taking out her tablet again. She double-checked it before nodding and putting it away. Bad put his gloves on, though they only covered up to his wrists, and flexed his hands again. He almost tripped over his helmet before remembering it and picking it up to carry it by the straps in his other hand.

“Don’t worry, I have a lot of practice going around unnoticed,” said Alice. “Just stay close.”

A few alleyways and side streets later, they made it to the car without incident. Bad would flinch and press himself against whatever wall was closest whenever a flying Master Builder or Master Builder vehicle would fly overhead, but it was dark enough out to hide them fairly well.

Alice unlocked the passenger door, opened it, and reached in to unlock the door behind it. Her car was so old, there was no button to unlock them all at once. She pulled her blonde wig off and tossed it in, letting her natural hair unbundle from the net attached to the wig. She was mildly glad she didn’t have time to properly pin the thing to her head, which would’ve been annoying. “Just toss your stuff in the back,” she said to Bad. She left him to do so and walked around to the other side to get in the driver’s side.

“How old is your car?” Bad asked through the open door before closing up the back and getting in. Half the car dipped under his weight, being a tiny car, and he had to quickly adjust the seat to keep his legs from being completely squished against the dashboard. It was pretty funny.

“Oh, about sixteen. It was a pretty popular model, before Octan took over.” She started it up and turned the volume on the radio to zero before her CD could start playing. “Surprised you don’t recognize it.”

“Hm,” grunted Bad in response. “I’m more of a motorcycle guy.” Alice turned her head to glance at him, pretending to check to be sure he’d buckled his seatbelt, and caught a glimpse of life in his face. It was pained, but it was there. It was something. She held back a watery smile and calmly put her car into drive.

He turned the player on to the radio setting and turned the volume up a few clicks. It was old enough to still be able to pick up much more than one frequency, and he spent a chunk of the drive cycling through them.

After fifteen minutes of static, Alice turned the volume back to zero, unable to stand the grating noise anymore. “It’ll take some time to rebuild the radio towers and get them going,” she said, “I imagine they’ll be using television more than radio, though, since they have all those video recordings of everything from Business’s cameras.”

“Right…” Bad said. Alice couldn’t see his face, since he was on her blind side and she didn’t want to look away from the road while she was driving, but he sounded bothered by that. It made sense, since suddenly everything was out in the open for the first time in almost a decade, including all the capturing and interrogating he and his brother had done. She wasn't sure what to say.

They got to her house not long after. It was in the Outskirts, about twenty minutes away from the City proper. The houses were fairly far apart and it all had a rustic feel, but it wasn’t quite the Countryside yet; there were no farms or livestock, only some horses. It was still very dark, though, without all the city lights illuminating everything. There were lights lining Alice’s driveway and the front of the house itself, however, that were activated when the car drove up.

It was hard to believe someone like Alice was living there. It was pale green and had a sunny yellow door. It was old and worn, but well cared for. The paint was fairly fresh on weathered wood and the lawn was lush and mowed. The fence was neat and orderly, if a bit uneven in places, and hid what Alice knew was a decent-sized back yard. Being summer, a rainbow of flowers was in full bloom along the sides of the little pathway that led from the driveway to the door. It was more like somewhere a happy retired couple would live, which had been true before the wife died and the husband sold it to Alice to move closer to his kids.

“Here it is,” said Alice, parking in front of her one-car garage. Bad didn’t say anything, but he craned his neck to look up through the windshield. “It’s secure,” she added, guessing what he was thinking, “I’ve got all my tech up and running, so no one’ll be able to track us down.”

Bad nodded and got out of the car. Alice followed suit, wondering when he would notice there was no doorknob.

“I have a question,” huffed Bad about halfway up the little path.

Alice sniggered. Instead of answering, she jogged ahead of him and waited at the doorway, turning to grin proudly at him. She’d always wanted to show someone this. When Bad caught up, frowning questioningly, she touched her middle prosthetic finger to the door and it immediately swung open.

“Impressive,” Bad grunted quietly, but he did seem genuine about it.

“Thanks.” She stepped back so he could go in first, since the door would close automatically once she was inside. “Um, make yourself at home, I guess?” She’d never had a real guest before, not counting when the Cops had been in her old lair. “You can just toss your clothes into the washer. Do you want a shirt? I have some old tee-shirts that might fit.” She hovered awkwardly next to the closed front door while he kicked off his big, black boots. He placed them neatly to the side along with his helmet, next to a few pairs of her shoes, and straightened. She tried a smile to lessen the awkwardness, and a little thrill went through her when he quirked a small one politely back at her. He then turned to look for the washing machine, finding it straight back at the end of the kitchen. She completely forgot about finding him a shirt.

Her house was small and, inside as well as outside, old and worn but well cared for. She’d kept it as the old couple had left it, since she found it unbelievably comforting after so many years in a shitty basement. The floors were wooden and the walls had old wallpaper and paneling, making it all the more classic. The furniture was mostly floral and possibly hand-crafted. The colors of everything were pale and warm like springtime. Despite the fact that it was Alice the hermit living there, the house all-in-all was lovely and welcoming. It was like a relic, having survived Business's building overhauls. Whatever Bad thought of it, he wasn’t showing any indication, as he was fixated on the task at hand. She’d have to ask him another time. If he ever came back...

Alice took a breath before heading into the kitchen, once Bad had made his way into the living room. She figured there was no reason to be nervous. Her brother never had a problem having his friends over for dinner, or keeping them coming back from time to time. Then again, he could actually cook. Alice stared into her refrigerator until she heard a quiet sigh from the living room. She glanced over her shoulder and couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the man sinking into her couch, which she knew was comfortable beyond belief. Even he couldn’t help but let his whole body relax, and she had a feeling his eyes were closed behind his glasses. The sight kindled a warm feeling in Alice’s chest. She looked back at the fridge and began pulling out plastic containers of leftovers, rationality returning. He was no doubt starving from the day’s excitement and this would be quickest.

“There is a half-naked man on my couch,” she muttered to herself while she waited on the microwave, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. She leaned forward a bit to glance at the strange sight; he was as he’d been a few minutes ago, resting with his eyes closed. Alice leaned back again and stared at the ceiling. “What am I doing? This is a surefire way to bring attention to myself.” She thought about him sitting on the edge of the fountain. How long would he have stayed there? Would anyone have come for him? Surely his parents, but she didn’t know anything about them so maybe they wouldn’t have. She frowned when she remembered what he’d said. Superman flew his parents’ house back? Was that it? She must’ve heard wrong, since his voice was low and rough therefore she could barely hear him through the loud music. Maybe his parents were at home and had no idea what was happening with him, that he was lost and alone and-

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the microwave beeped. She hurried to open the door before the noise disturbed her guest. Patient? Stray puppy? Well, he wasn’t really talking, so she supposed it was possible he wasn’t sure either, when it came down to it. She wondered when he’d last had a good night’s sleep. She vaguely remembered spending most of the time after her escape from the Tower sleeping, curled in a nest of old blankets and rags on the concrete floor of the dusty basement. Knowing Business, he probably hadn’t let Bad get much rest afterwards, especially with the whole “Special” thing going on.

“Hey, um, dinner’s ready,” she called once she’d gotten the dining room table set. She had never bothered setting it before, since she normally just loaded up her plate and then sat down, but this time she’d laid out the steaming containers with large spoons for serving on the table. She doubted he’d care if she had no idea which side of the plate the fork and knife were supposed to be, so just stuck them both on the right. Also, come on, the man was totally shirtless. This wasn’t exactly a formal dinner.

Bad indeed didn’t seem to care, except to give her a polite quirk of his lips and a quiet “Thank you” as he pulled out a chair and sat down. The more Alice watched him, the more she realized how in a foggy state he still was, even while safe and at a healthy temperature. It made sense, since his mind was probably still horribly rattled from the events of the past few days (plus whenever Business used the acid). It was like he was in shock. It made the silence a bit less awkward, since she knew he was just going through the motions and wasn’t as concerned with what she was doing, but she was still relieved when they were done eating. The constant worrying was twisting her up something fierce.

“Would it be alright if I checked your burns?” she asked when they’d settled in the living room, sitting across the small space from each other. From this close, she could see goosebumps beginning to rise on his skin from exposure, though the sweat and water from earlier had dried a while ago and her house was comfortably warm. She stood before he could answer her question and pulled the old quilt from the back of the couch to drop in his lap. He started a bit when she got near, but then seemed more confused than anything as he stared at the quilt. “Your bandages could use a change,” she reminded him, stepping back a bit to give him space. Dammit, she had to be more careful, she internally scolded herself.

“I...suppose,” he said, rubbing his unbandaged eye underneath his glasses. He moved to stand, but Alice stopped him and stepped into the bathroom to get her kit. While she was digging in the cupboard for the bag, he unfolded the quilt enough to drape it over his back, holding it tightly closed over his chest with one hand.

“It’ll just take a moment. I, uh, got pretty efficient at this.” Alice dropped the white bag onto the coffee table and sat next to him on the couch. “Just hold still.” She didn’t bother warning him it would hurt. She swallowed, pushing down the nausea that came with doing shit like this, which she was frustrated to still feel after so many self-sufficient years. He frowned while she untied the bandages, but was otherwise a pretty decent patient, considering it was him. She was extra careful with the last layer of bandage, the layer directly on the wound, but thankfully it came off without taking any skin with it. Bad flinched only slightly when the flesh was exposed.

Alice avoided his gaze as she looked his face over while she snapped on a pair of rubber gloves once she’d tossed the bundle of bandages onto the table. The burns were fresh, meaning they couldn’t have been more than a few days old. They were clean, however, and had no signs of infection. They were shallower than hers had been, so would heal with a much less obvious scar. Relief warmed her chest, as it had when she saw earlier that his eye was still intact. Their eyes ended up meeting, and she smiled at his intense, searching look. “It’s looking alright,” she said, quickly moving to pull a tube of antiseptic from the bag. He shifted in his seat, clearly bracing himself for when she would make contact with the pained flesh. “I’ll be quick,” she said again, moving to gently spread the watery cream onto his face, pushing past her screaming reluctance to cause him the pain he was expecting.

His whole body went tense and his face scrunched up as soon as she touched him, but he didn’t flinch away. She saw and felt the muscle of his jaw bulging out slightly as he grit his teeth. Alice wondered how the robots did this, if they were gentle. Probably not. They were probably more efficient than she was, at least, though it only took her a couple minutes to cover the whole area. That finished, she rebandaged him with fresh gauze, somewhat glad she didn’t have to take all that extra time to do up his neck, since his burns didn’t reach as far as hers. “Done.” Alice stood and gathered up the dirty stuff to dispose of while Bad blinked spots from his eyes and put his glasses back on.

“Thanks,” he slurred, slumping back into the couch. When Alice glanced at him from the trash can, she noticed he’d closed his eyes and was sitting very still. She thought he might’ve been giving into his exhaustion, but then he opened them and stared at the wall. He started flexing his hands.

“Hey, I know you don’t like it, but I have something to help you sleep. You could use it,” she added, hesitating in the kitchen entrance.

He tilted his head just enough to look at her. He opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again and nodded instead. His expression was resigned, and Alice’s heart clenched for the millionth time that day.

She placed the little orange pill bottle and a glass of water on the coffee table for him before turning to go into her bedroom. She gave the blanket on the bed a shake before laying it out somewhat neatly, too in a hurry to give into the temptation to try to make it perfect. She tugged and nudged the pillow into shape, and grabbed her laptop. She sniffed and swallowed hard. She took a moment to contain herself. He had been through so, so much more than anyone should have to in their lifetime. It wasn’t fair. But, she still had to face him again, before he went to sleep. There was no way she was going to cry around him, especially for him. He wouldn’t like that, to put it lightly. She took a deep breath and wiped the couple tears that had leaked before turning to leave the room.

When she went back into the living room, she noticed the glass of water was empty and the pill bottle had been set down in a somewhat different position. She put her laptop on the coffee table, in front of her armchair.

“There’s an extra toothbrush and some towels in that linen closet, if you want to wash up. I don’t have a shower, but feel free to use the tub if you want. It leaks, but don’t mind that. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask,” she added somewhat awkwardly, settling into her chair. “I’ll be up all night.” She was still pretty nocturnal, even with her Maddie Stein identity making it so she could join the world again, and often stayed up late working. Just as well, she doubted she’d be able to sleep anytime soon even if it was her bedtime.

He dragged himself to a standing position. He neatly folded the quilt as it had been and draped it back on the couch before heading into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. Alice turned on some music and opened a design for a laser katana she would probably never actually build. She kept staring at the bathroom door, however; just the sense of him being in there was enough to pull her attention like the force of a magnet. She heard her bathtub run and began giggling despite herself, sounding unhinged to her own ears. “Oh god, if my parents could see this.” Her laughter trailed off quickly and she glared as she looked at the ceiling. “Well-! Whatever.” She shook her head at her own foolishness and went back to staring at the door.

Bad emerged from the bathroom a little while later, hair damp again. He’d put his uniform pants and socks back on, though Alice wasn’t sure why he bothered with the socks. At least he’d left the gloves off. She looked upward and the tattoo over his deltoid caught her eye. It was a stereotypical “Mum” heart, with a ribbon and everything, and she knew there was a matching one on the other side with “Dad.” She’d forgotten about their tattoos.

He shifted on his feet as he hesitated in the hall, as if unsure what he was supposed to do next. It would probably take him some time to adjust to life without instructions, she knew, but he wouldn't have as hard a time as the citizens. Probably.

“You should get to bed. The meds should be kicking in soon,” said Alice, checking the clock on her computer screen. He’d been in there for fifteen minutes, and the meds usually took about half an hour. That, and the sooner he got to resting, the better. He still looked like he could fall over at any second.

He briskly made his way to her bedroom and paused in the doorway. He turned to offer her another half-smile, more a quick twitch of the corner of his lips, before clearing his throat and saying, “Goodnight.”

“Night,” said Alice, smiling back at him.


	4. Bad is Caught Off-Guard

Dense, heavy clay. That’s what his body felt like, what was filling his head and making him slow. It took too long to realize where he was, too long to remember the events of the past few days. It was all blurred together, bits and pieces shooting back and forth within his skull before finally settling into some form of coherency. And oh god, how horrible it all was.

No no no, focus. Focus! Bad bared his teeth in a grimace and finally peeled his eyes open. The room spun, but he kept them open until it slowed. A cold feeling ran down his sternum at the unfamiliar ceiling. Was this capture? Was he in a cell, or some- No, wait, he remembered. He let out the breath he’d been holding and pushed himself into a sitting position with a grunt, his muscles sore all through. Yes, he remembered walking into this room the night before, too darn out of it to do more than take his glasses off and collapse on the bed. And, of course, he remembered its owner.

Other than the bed, the armoire standing next to it took up the most space in the room. It was almost laughably large, taking up a good chunk of the floor with its bulk and reaching the ceiling. The only other furniture was a little chair to the side of it, under one of the windows, and a small bedside table that held a reading lamp and some old spy novels. The floor was littered with discarded clothing, mostly in pastels and light fabrics. The walls were painted a soft blue-green. The only other thing in the entire room was an Impressionistic painting of a little curved bridge over a water lily pond. The room was comfortable, but utilitarian, mainly because of the lack of personal items such as photographs or knick-knacks. It didn’t tell him much about its usual occupant, but at the same time it told quite a lot.

Bad let out a quiet groan and rubbed at the unbandaged side of his face. His head was pounding like a drum from constantly fronting for the past few days, as well as the other reason he couldn’t let himself think about. Part of him wanted to tug the curtains fully shut and sprawl back down under the covers. He felt like he could sleep for days. The thought tugged at him, causing him to almost give in and lie down, but he forced his spine to straighten and blinked his vision back into clarity. To solidify it, he put his glasses on, with the aviators flipped down. He didn’t create a very striking image with rumpled black trousers, socks, and no shirt, but it would have to do. It was time to talk to Alice and figure out what his next move was.

He listened for noise from the rest of the house, but heard nothing. She was probably asleep. Just as well, he could wake her up and immediately gain control of the conversation. He eased his way carefully out of the bed, cracked his spine, and cringed when the door squeaked as he slowly opened it.

Alice was indeed asleep, lying on her back on the couch with one arm dangling off the side. That’s not what caught Bad’s attention, though. Three empty mugs. A bundle of folded clothes on the recliner. His cell phone sitting on the coffee table. Bad froze.

In a shot, he was leaning over the culprit and grabbing her by the shirt collar, lifting her up to scream at her, “You called my parents?!”

“Agh!” went Alice as he shook her roughly. “Jesus, you have bad morning breath,” she rasped, face scrunching up. She didn’t seem particularly bothered, just sleepy and slightly annoyed at being roused, so he shook her harder.

“What gave you the right to call my parents?! How dare you?!” Flecks of spit rained down onto her face, making her turn her head to try to escape it. Bad gripped her shirt more tightly when she turned her head back to give him a dark look. His instincts screamed and his heart pounded. His rationality managed to just barely speak louder. Her features were thin and simple. He couldn’t hit her. She wasn’t a Master Builder. This wasn’t an interrogation. Alice was talking. She gripped onto his forearms for stability, but didn’t try to push free. This wasn’t an interrogation.

“Your mom called your phone. I answered it,” she growled. “It turns out, you fucking jerk, they were worried sick!” She glared him down as he grit and ground his teeth at her. “I invited them over so they could make sure you weren’t fucking dead!” She gave him a hard shove where she was holding his arms, barely even moving him, and he finally let go of her shirt. She shot to her feet, causing him to step back so she didn’t bash into his jaw as she did so.

He automatically shifted his feet to anchor his stance, but he forced himself to keep his arms down at his sides. It felt horribly wrong, since his instincts were telling him _fight!_. It took him a moment to process what she’d said. “It wasn’t your place to-”

“No, it wasn’t! It was yours!” She jabbed a sharp finger into his sternum. “And yet, I had to tell them _everything!_ ”

The blood drained from Bad’s face. He took a step back, but couldn’t get his mouth to work to say anything. Alice remained where she was, thankfully not pushing forward to try to physically bully him, which would’ve gotten her killed. She crossed her arms instead. “I know everything’s been really hard for you,” she said in a lower voice, speaking slowly to try to control her anger, “but they care about you. And yet you decided to keep the fact that you lost three limbs a secret for like eight years!” she said a bit loudly again, sounding more shocked about that than anything.

“We didn’t want them to know! They would’ve been worried sick!” he snapped, continuing to hold his arms straight down with his fists clenched. Panic spiked through him. Their parents knew everything, all that hard work to keep them in the dark undone in one night. He tightened his jaw against a wave of dizziness as his head began to spin. Pain like needles were being shoved in the right side of his face stabbed at him.

“I had to tell them,” she said, a bit of gentleness seeping into the anger. “They were so desperate to know what happened with you two, what happened with…” Her face softened completely, eye sad. She looked off to the side. “I had to tell them,” she repeated.

Bad held his head in his hands and wavered. Even with his eyes closed, it felt like he was standing on a ship during a storm. He stumbled back a step, and then forward two steps. He found himself being guided down onto the couch, but the touch was gentle and familiar enough that he didn’t lash out at it. He was guided to put his head between his knees, and his skull was heavy enough that he gladly cooperated. His left leg was cool under his trousers, so he pressed his cheek against it. He was aware of a small trash bin being set by his right foot, the tin material of it thunking dully on the area rug. He closed his eyes and moaned slightly as the dizziness slowly, slowly became more manageable.

“It’s only been three days?” Alice asked softly after a few moments. Bad slowly raised his head up to look at her. There was no pity in her face. He managed a nod. “And immediately after, you went on a huge chase for the Special?” she continued. He let his head drop back down, though his neck complained.

“Why are you bothering to ask? You clearly already know everything,” he said, with no lack of bitterness. He sounded drunk, slurring words and rasping with a dry throat, but couldn’t bring himself to care. He couldn’t even be properly angry with her for telling them. Everything, it was all ruined. Typical.

She paused for a moment. “If you don’t want me involved, just say so. I just wanted to help, since I know the extent of that injury.” She paused again. “I only told them about it because they asked. They were worried you had brain damage or something.”

No wonder they hadn’t said much to him. “What did they say before they left?” he asked, continuing to stare at the floor.

“Well, they’re glad you don’t have brain damage,” she started nervously, as if the whole conversation had been awkward as heck. “And they want you to get plenty of rest and take care of yourself. Well, your dad did most of the talking. Your mom couldn’t stop crying.” He scowled up at her at that, but she had no hint of malice. She wasn’t even watching for his reaction, instead looking embarrassedly at the other end of the couch. “Though, I, uh, technically did most of the talking. You know, te-telling them everything.” She began fiddling with some strands of her hair and said no more.

Bad tried to choke through the heavy guilt and speak, but couldn’t. He stared down at the floor again, jaw hurting from clenching it so hard. How stupid they’d been, setting up their parents for heartache, and now Alice had to deal with it for them. And he still couldn’t go home, couldn’t face them. He’d thought, while he was sitting on the edge of the fountain the evening before, that he might be able to drag himself home after he’d rested a bit and waited for his mind to clear. He could’ve gone on pretending until he found a new place for himself, a new job and a new residence. He could’ve written letters from the both of them, made the occasional phone call, just to keep them thinking everything was fine. He pressed his hands together to sense the resistance. The silence was prickly.

“Your parents and I,” Alice said after a few moments, with an odd tone because that did sound weird coming from her, “think that it might be beneficial for you to stay here for a little while. It’s up to you in the end, but it might be better for you to rest somewhere more, uh, neutral. You can do whatever you want, and can change your mind at any time, of course.”

He looked up at her again, eyes narrowed. “Why are you doing this? Stepping in like some goshdarn fairy godmother whenever you think we need help?” Whatever obsession she had with him and his brother, he could squash it. If she turned out to want to use him to her own amusement, he could fight her. If she turned out to be anything like Business, he could kill her.

Alice stepped closer and sat down on the edge of her coffee table directly across from him. Her knees went just past his. He sat up and leaned back to face her. This close, he could snap her neck without her even noticing he’d moved. Her hands were empty, and there was no sign of a concealed weapon under her jeans or her light blouse. He kept his mouth pressed closed, refusing to be taken off-guard. His aviators felt like a protective barrier, hiding his eyes, giving him an edge.

She stared down at her hands, and then looked at him with an almost blank expression on her face. From there, she emoted as she spoke, raw and honest, nothing like he’d seen in a long time.

“It’s not like all I did for the past seven years was watch for you on TV, you know,” she said, slightly offended. “It was a bit of a shock when I realized how strange everyone was acting. I mean, Frankie always fronted, but I’m not stupid. People don’t suddenly become stereotypes who don’t notice when a small army of robots is lying deactivated at the edge of their city. I watched to make sure no one tried to find me, since it’s not like my hiding place was really all that great, but not a single human being gave them a second glance. I mean, I thought they were just scared to get involved, but then I tried to talk to my old friends, the owners of the spy shop. They had no idea who I was, had no memories of Frank or the other medical students who used to go there every single week for six years straight. And their personalities had completely changed.” She looked like she was going to elaborate, but then caught the unimpressed look he was giving her for babbling on.

“Anyways.” She took a deep breath. “I spent a lot of time trying to make sense of it all, figure out why this was happening. I knew _how_ Business was doing it, since Frankie left me with the knowledge about the mind control tech, but I didn’t know the reason behind it all. I couldn’t do much about it without garnering too much attention, but the least I could do was find a meaning for everyone to be wiped like that. I couldn’t, since I didn’t know about the Kragle until yesterday. Hell, I would’ve been frozen like everyone else had I not been hiding in a dumpster.”

“What does all this have to do with your obsession for us?” he growled. Stalling him wouldn’t work.

“I’m explaining to you that I _don’t_ have an obsession for you,” she snapped, “Yes, I kept an eye on you, just like I kept an eye on the owners of the spy shop and the people in the surrounding area. I wanted to make sure Business wasn’t going to do anything terrible to them, or you. You can’t just assume I’m some sort of freaky- Wait.”

She cocked her head and looked at him anew, searching his face for something. “You’re asking me because the last time someone acted like they cared about you, it was Business being manipulative.”

Bad vaulted to his feet, flipping the coffee table she was sitting on as he did so. He ignored her yell and the shattering of the glass tabletop and stormed over to the dining room table to grab his leather jacket hanging on one of the chairs. Pulling it on, and without stopping, he turned and strode across the house to the front door. He grabbed his boots and helmet, kicked the knobless door open, and walked out.

After almost half an hour, he finally stopped and collapsed under a tree. He’d headed for the most wooded direction, not even caring where he was going. He let his legs sprawl out and panted, his boots and helmet dropped to the ground beside him. His muscles quivered as he came down from the small spike of adrenaline, not enough of it left in his body to keep spending. He’d used up most of his energy chasing the stupid Special, and now his body was beating him down for pushing it again. He relished the punishment, opened himself up to it. This was all a huge mistake. He was the one left, not Good, and all he did was hurt people. Too much of a coward to stand up to Lord Business, too broken down to recognize honest compassion. Too pathetic to do anything but try to save his own wretched hide.

He breathed deeply the clean, earthy air, a calm sort of numbness settling into his brain. It was quiet, except for a few birds singing in the trees. Peaceful. No synthetic eyes were watching him. He could lie there and almost let himself fade away, no longer exist. The thought of that squeezed his throat with longing, caused the tears prickling his eyes to fall. It overpowered the grief, the alien loneliness he couldn’t let himself acknowledge, the pain.

His parents would be able to mourn without having to look the son who betrayed them in the eye, remember them as they’d been before Octan’s claws had sunk in and tainted their precious children.

Alice’s kindness could be put to someone who deserved it.

No one would be able to hunt him down and take their revenge or turn him into a scapegoat, which Business would definitely do to save face.

Business. Business wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing him suffer anymore.

Bad closed his eyes and imagined not existing. Just blackness, emptiness.

He just got the idea to try holding his breath to get all the way to feeling nothingness when he heard the loud snapping of a twig and the crunching of leaves. His mind remained a still pool as he waited and listened. The second time he heard it, just a moment later, he let his eyes slide open and turned his head slightly in the direction of the noise, looking dully at the source.

He couldn’t bring himself to feel surprised that Alice had followed him and was now standing hesitantly about three yards away, just next to another tree. A trail of blood ran from above her hairline, down the unscarred side of her face, and onto her shirt, soaking into it like an ink blot on paper. Bits of broken glass sparkled on her jeans. She looked like she’d immediately gone after him, only stopping to slide her feet into a pair of pale green flip-flops. He stared at her, but didn’t move a single muscle.

Whatever she saw in his face, be it the tear streak or something else, caused her to hurry over and crouch beside him, disregarding the glass that was probably digging into her legs. She hesitated, appearing lost and unsure, before slowly reaching out and touching his face. He didn’t know how to react, if he even should. He was frozen, white static in his head, as she used her thumb to smear the line of tears away.

“I know.” Her voice cracked. “I know.”

He managed to curl his upper lip in a weak grimace, but didn’t say anything. She knew, but she didn’t. There was some overlap in experiences, but their lives were very different.

Emotions flashed clearly over her face: insecurity, worry, pain, sadness, even a bit of fear. Still no pity. He wondered at the cut on her head, the glass in her jeans. Following him had been her priority, making sure he was okay. Unfathomable.

He shifted his head slightly. Her fingers were still curled around his jaw, brushing his ear, her thumb resting on his cheek. Soft, despite the scars from the shattered taser gun. Cool, but warming quickly against his skin. He found himself pressing gently into the touch, if only because of how long it had been since he’d felt real, human hands. The flesh of it moulded against his face like little pillows, nothing like the hard, unyielding metal he’d become used to. Even the solid bone of the bottom edge of her thumb, pressing slightly into the corner of his mouth, still had that velvety layer of skin over it that made him yearn to turn his head and let it slide over his lips.

He was getting distracted, but couldn’t bring himself to care. She looked at her hand, clearly surprised, and hesitantly began stroking his cheek in slow, light movements with the pad of her thumb. He didn’t bother to stop the small sigh he breathed out, almost a moan, eyelids fluttering closed behind the safety of his aviators. A slight warmth spread in him, replaced the hollowness, pushed away the static. The heartache lingered, but was less crushing. His unstable mind remained calm, his aching body, relaxed. He was so tired.

“Can’t sit out here all day,” Alice muttered reluctantly. There was a question there, left unspoken.

Bad opened his eyes, narrowed them at nothing in particular. For the first time in a long time, he could want something, might even get it. God, it hurt that he could get that now, after everything he’d done, everything that had happened.

He pressed further into her hand, perhaps in apology. “I’ll stay with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaat, using my own deep life experiences for a Lego fic? Pshaw. And for a chapter I find super funny, even (Come on, guys, neither of you are fooling anyone).


	5. Hazardous Kindness

Getting Bad off the saddleless horse was almost harder than getting him onto it, since he was almost a dead weight from fatigue. He did his best to help, however, so she got him onto the ground without being crushed to death. That done, Alice gave the horse a pat and sent it off; her neighbors were diligent horse trainers and she hoped it would head straight back home.

“Alright, let’s get you back to bed,” she said with a grunt as she hefted his arm over her shoulder. She could feel the tremors of his legs shaking running up the length of his body. The smell of hot, salty, sweating Cop body reached her nose, pouring out the front of his open jacket. 

“Your table,” he rumbled when the front door opened, his rough, deep voice apologetic. It was the first thing he’d said since earlier, under the tree, when her hand had been pressed against his face. She worried he was going numb, sinking into something really dark and deep. If that was the case, she knew she had to be watchful with him, or else he might try to do something...rash.

“It’s fine, it came with the house,” she said dismissively, focusing on getting them through the threshold without bashing him against the doorframe.

“You’re injured,” he added firmly, as if it were part of his mostly-unspoken argument.

“It’s nothing,” she said firmly. The door swung closed behind them and she got him into the bedroom without further comment from the man. She sat him down on the edge of the bed and he wavered a bit before slumping forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, to conserve energy.

Alice hesitated before reaching down and tugging at the sleeve of his jacket. He got the message and sat up slightly, lifting his arm so she could slip that half of the garment off. He was looking off to the side, frowning slightly. She supposed he was frustrated he couldn’t do it himself, and at least that was acting more normal for him.

Once she got the jacket off all the way, he slumped forward again, his stomach and chest touching his thighs this time, making her jump. He was just taking off his dirty socks, so Alice relaxed and stepped out of the room to hang the jacket in the entryway closet. She paused and looked at it once she’d done so. It looked so out of place among her own outerwear, she couldn’t help but smile a bit. She closed the closet door and glanced outside to make sure the horse had indeed headed home instead of lingering to sample her flowers. It was gone, thank god.

Alice took a deep breath and walked to her living room, stepping carefully though she was still wearing her flip-flops. “Do you want to change into some shorts or something? Your, uh, parents brought over some clothes for you,” she called, trying to keep her voice level and casual. She glanced sideways into the bedroom. He was as she’d left him, only barefoot and sitting with his elbows on his thighs again. He was staring forward and working his jaw as he thought it over.

“You should…You should take care of that cut on your head,” he said, voice a bit strained. He kept his gaze forward, she assumed, though she couldn’t see his eyes behind the frames of his sunglasses.

“I will, it’s fine,” she replied, managing to keep her tone light. She grabbed a pair of gym-style shorts and a soft tee-shirt and tossed them at him as she walked by to go into the bathroom. There, that way he could manage to get himself changed in privacy while knowing she was taking care of the cut, which was honestly starting to throb a bit.

Oh jeez, no wonder he’d been so concerned. There was more blood than she realized, not surprising considering it was a head wound, and there was a large stain bled into her shirt. Oh well. She first changed into some flannel pajamas from her laundry basket, a set that smelled fairly clean and weren’t covered in shards of glass. After washing her hands, she wet some paper towels and carefully blotted at her scalp, which was nothing more than a small breaking of the skin surrounded by a slight tenderness that indicated a bruise. A dab of stinging antiseptic and a bandaid took care of it.

She’d just finished wiping the trail of blood from her face when she heard a wail of anguish. Dropping the pink wad, she nearly bashed into the bathroom door as she threw it open and dashed a u-turn to next door.

Bad was sitting there with the tee-shirt she’d thrown him pressed against his face as he curled in on himself. She heard him choke in a breath and go silent. She knew what he was doing, had done it herself a long time ago. The difference was, she couldn’t let anyone in the spy shop hear her cry; it would’ve been too dangerous. Holding her breath had made her light-headed, pressing her face into the pillow, painful. That shirt, it had to be one of Good’s, she realized, to have set him off this hard all of a sudden.

He gasped in another breath and she snapped out of it. She stepped slowly over and sat next to him. After a beat, she pressed close to his side. Another beat, he leaned into her. She draped her arms around him, one over his back, the other across his chest, and pressed her cheek just behind his tattoo.

“Let it out. It’s okay,” she said. She stroked a circle on his shoulder blade, felt it was the right thing to do. He keened, and then slowly the dam broke and he was wetly sobbing into the shirt, body heaving with the force of it. Alice kept her head rested on his back, watched her fingers run along his skin, rising and falling with every gasping breath, trembling along as he trembled. Surprisingly, she still had a few tears left to shed, for her brother, for his brother, for him, for them.

After a while, he began to quiet down. He took some deep breaths and wiped at his face with the cloth of the shirt still gripped tightly in his hands. He started breathing somewhat more normally, though it hitched in his throat.

“He c-couldn’t spuh-speak… Th-there was just pain,” he gasped, somewhat muffled. He was shaking from the memory.

They both would’ve felt it, how the acid felt like it bore into their skull to fill their head with searing pain. The last thing he heard from his brother would’ve been screaming, inside and outside their head. Alice had passed out before it ended for her, but Mr. and Mrs. Cop had told her that Bad had remained awake, was even able to speak and activate the Kragleizer on them. They’d lost awareness under the preservative shell of the stuff, so it was even possible he’d remained conscious the rest of the day. Alone. In that utter agony. Still stuck with Business.

Alice held him tighter. “I know,” she muttered against his skin. “I’m sorry it happened to you.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and she felt him raise his head as he let it out. He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “You, too.”

She rotated her neck to rest her scarred cheek against his back, her eye looking at the unbandaged side of his face, mostly hidden by the bundle pressed against it. She could feel that he was looking at her through the corner of his eye, behind the aviators. Alice took a deep, easy breath through her nose and held his gaze. This was still far from anything she ever would have expected in her lifetime, and yet it was so familiar. She remembered the stabbing longing for comfort, translated it now to a burning longing to comfort. She was oddly serene as she reached over and slipped the flip-ups from his face, placed them on her bedside table. He turned his head to hide further into the shirt.

“Here, lie down,” she murmured, sitting up and gently patting his upper arm. She couldn’t fix anything he was suffering from, but she could give him rest so he could heal from some of it, make him feel so much safer than she had. She backed up across the mattress and tugged the blanket along with her to make room. “Come on,” she coaxed when he hesitated. As an afterthought, she tugged the curtains until only a small crack of light kept her room somewhat illuminated, but dark enough.

He let go with his left hand to brace himself and slowly maneuvered onto his side, scooting back in increments until he was lying down a few inches away from the edge of the mattress. He adjusted his head on the pillow with a sigh, the coolness of it probably feeling nice against his cheek. He continued clutching Good’s tee-shirt against his face with his right hand, still hiding, or for self-comfort.

Alice was sorely tempted to try to get those pants off him, since they didn’t look comfortable to be lying down in, but decided she’d better not push it. She wondered if she should leave, but shot the idea down as soon as it appeared. She couldn’t leave him alone in his condition, especially right then. She spread the blankets over the two of them as she stretched behind him. After a beat, she moved closer so her front was pressing against his back and her lap was curled around his buttocks, fitting together nicely despite how much wider he was than her. She rested her right hand on his side and her head propped on her left arm. Again, so strangely, it felt like the right thing to do.

She was fascinated by how he began relaxing after just a few moments, his body sinking further into the mattress as his muscles untensed. In a moment of boldness, she slid her lower leg between both of his and rested her forehead on the back of his head, pressing even closer. She twitched in surprise when his fingers rested ever so lightly against the back of her hand, almost shyly holding it on his side. She smiled, tears welling up in her eye again, and stroked her thumb back and forth to try to reassure him.

He curled up a bit tighter and groaned deep in the back of his throat, a harsh sound of misery. He started rolling onto his back, so she scooted to give him room, and he let the tee-shirt in his hand slip off his face to rest next to the pillow as he did so. She could see his face just enough in the dim light to tell he was frowning at her.

“Why are you…?” he asked very quietly, almost to himself.

It took her a moment to boil down what he was wondering about. Why was she letting him stay with her? Why was she hugging and cuddling him? She realized it all boiled down to her being nice to him, which seemed to be an odd concept for Bad to accept. Alice shrugged one shoulder. “You’re hurting. What else can I do?”

“Save your kindness for someone who deserves it,” he growled, looking away.

Yep, looks like she was right. She scratched at the short stubble just under his jawline, below the edge of the bandages, just because she could and she knew he’d like it. “Tch, don’t be silly,” she said fondly as his head began tilting back slightly, “I liked you at the beginning of your Octan brainwashing, and I still like you now.”

“We weren’t brainwashed,” he said in an odd tone, as if he wished they had been. Alice could relate, after years of the occasional need to go out and wade among the citizens. Being the only crazy person among straight-thinkers was horrid. “It’s not that. I-, I couldn’t-” He clenched his jaw and began grinding his teeth against another wave of grief. “He was always the better man. All I’m good for is violence and intimidation. I can’t-” He sniffed, face screwing up, and pressed the shirt to his face again to hide fresh tears and a running nose.

“-do this without him,” Alice finished for him. She put her hand on his shoulder and gave the muscle a squeeze, causing him to make a small, low sound in his throat. She kept it up, gently massaging, kept her eye on his covered face. “I know it feels like that, Bad, especially for us. It’s hard, it’s so fucking hard, but trust me when I say you can do it,” she told him, years of experience cementing her words. “I won’t argue with you,” she added levelly when he wrenched the shirt down to give her a sharp look, his eyes bloodshot.

He grumbled something, half-intelligible, and turned back onto his side. After a moment, he scooted ever so slightly back. Alice got the hint and cuddled up to him again, stealing a portion of the pillow this time. Her nose ended up pressed into his hair. It smelled like her lilac shampoo, not surprising as he’d used her tub the night before. His hair was softer than she’d expect. She couldn’t help but nuzzle a bit.

“I figured it out. It’s all so clear now. You, lass, are completely insane.”

Alice started laughing right out at that, but managed to control it into quieter, shaky chuckles against his back so she wasn’t being loud that close to his ear. She could’ve cried, she was so relieved to hear him making a joke, albeit a dry one.

She soon caught her breath enough to ask, “What’s ‘lass’ mean?”

A quiet sigh. “Girl.” Possibly-feigned annoyance.

“Hm. What’s the boy equivalent?”

“Weren’t you the one who said I need rest?” he grumbled, though he did sound tired. He shifted slightly to get comfortable, tried to be subtle about nudging her hand with his fingers.

“You got me. Go ahead and sleep,” she replied fondly. Instead of stroking with her thumb, she began gently running her hand up and down his side.

He stayed awake for a while, she could tell from his breathing and the general air about him, but luckily her arm was strong enough to continue the comforting touches without tiring. She was getting pretty sleepy herself, since she’d only gotten a few hours earlier that morning, but she waited until he was well and truly asleep before she let herself close her eyes.

~

Bad stared at where his fist disappeared into the hole he just punched in the wall. Paint, plaster, probably wood. His confusion led way to realization: this wasn’t Octan Tower. He was...safe. Protected by an advanced system of security tech not even Business’s robots could find for seven years. He took in a shuddering breath, the terror of his nightmare slowly fading away.

Of course, that’s when he realized Alice was trapped under his arm, which was stretched across her sternum. He carefully pulled his fist from the wall to release her, his face flushed with shame.

“Sorry…” he grumbled, frowning at how she was gasping, as if she couldn’t get a full breath in. He recognized the signs of a constricted diaphragm when he heard it. He must’ve hit her during his thrashing.

“Fine, it’s fine,” she barely managed to get out, sitting up and coughing a bit. She waved dismissively at the wall. “Easy fix.”

He sat up with her, hovering close but completely unsure what to do. “Did I hurt you?” Of course he did, what a stupid thing to ask. She’d gotten close, stayed there, and what did he ever do besides break everything? He barely remembered how much it hurt to try to switch in before he gave into the urge to hide, knew it wouldn’t work. Panic flowed through him. He had to get himself away from her, had to-

“Woah, hey, hey, com’ere. Calm down, now, it’s okay.” A firm hand on each of his shoulders stopped his retreat off the bed. He had to stay and face his actions.

Spine ramrod-straight, he kept his head down and to the side so she couldn’t properly see his face. He glanced at the mess he’d made of her wall, bits of plaster sprayed onto the sheets, probably onto the floor. He kept his eyes off her, but imagined the bruise she’d end up with from the force of however he’d hit her to make her diaphragm seize up. What else had he done in his sleep? What other means of biting the hand that fed him had his body come up with without his awareness?

He had his teeth bared, and yet she placed her fingers under his chin to tilt his face up and toward her. His eyes, he’d been told, were intense and terrifying when he was upset, and yet she looked without fear. There was no trace of underlying anger, no sense that she was going to build up to a punishment. Not even a look of disappointment, the kind his parents gave him that stabbed into him more painfully than Unikitty’s horn. There was only concern in Alice’s eye, simple and just for him. It was...strange still.

And then she slid her arms around his middle, rested her head against his shoulder, and he was floored again by how it felt to be comforted by someone who wasn’t his brother or his parents, who he’d barely even seen in the past decade. He even trusted her enough to let her. Could he move, he might’ve even returned the gesture, but he was still too frozen by his own emotions. He was pathetic, a beaten down old mutt, not even able to return a darn hug if he couldn’t hide behind his brother...

“I’m pretty sure I accidentally kneed you in the groin last night,” she said, and it took him so long to figure that statement out, she looked up at him to make sure he’d heard her.

“What?” he said, his face finally cracking into a vaguely confused expression.

“Last night. I kinda kicked out in my sleep, and my foot hit the prosthetic but my knee ended up, well. It woke me up. I think you woke up for a moment, too, but then you just snorted and rolled onto your back.” She looked up at him and smiled.

“It’s… I…What?” he repeated, completely baffled at this point.

“I mean, don’t feel shitty just because you had a nightmare and lashed out. One, it was a nightmare; it wasn’t your fault. Two, clearly neither of us are used to sharing a bed with another body, and that’s okay. Three, I completely forgive you for kneeing me in the diaphragm and punching a hole in my wall. Okay?” She unwrapped one arm from around him to cup his cheek.

He floundered for a moment. “Y- Uh- Okay.”

“Now, I dunno about you, but I am _fucking starving_.” She enunciated the last two words, making him frown disapprovingly at her. She gave him a quirk of a smile and what was possibly a wink, though there was no real way of telling, and gave his cheek a quick pat before hopping off the bed and out the door.

“Language!” he called after her once she was out of sight. He shook his head when he heard her giggle. He looked again at the hole in the wall, and then at his hand, which was still covered in plaster dust. He curled a fist. It was only pure, blind luck that had left her with only a momentary lapse in breathing ability and a bruised gut. And yesterday, a small wound on her scalp and leg abrasions. Could've easily been a darn concussion, or worse.

“Are you a pancakes guy, or a waffles guy?” she asked casually from the kitchen. Domestic sounds, a cabinet door, a mixing bowl being placed on the countertop, the fridge opening and closing. Juxtaposed to the fact that a vicious weapon was sitting in her bedroom, itchy bandages on his marred face, hands unfeeling and so, so strong.

He unclenched his fist and stepped out, to the edge of the living room. God, what a wreck. It looked like Alice had landed into the flimsy floor lamp, between the two armchairs across from the couch. The table had ended up leaning against the armchairs, the glass top of it shattered all over the floor. Shiny bits of danger spread out all over the area rug and had even gotten under the dining table and into the hallway. He wondered how Alice had managed to get out of there without cutting her fee-

“Lass,” he said with a deep sigh.

“What? You want an omelette or something instead?” she asked, standing innocently in front of the counter next to her stove. She was busy flipping through an old recipe book, its pages yellowed and rippy. She was standing flat on her bare feet and there were no bandages peeking out from under them that he could see. Then again, they could've just been hidden. Had she been limping before? He couldn’t remember.

“I can’t help but notice you have absolutely no concern over your own safety and wellbeing,” he said with no lack of snark. He crossed his arms and gave her a level look.

“Why, because I have Bad Cop in my house?” she asked, turning her head to frown at him. She looked back to her cookbook and said, “If I thought you were really a danger to me, you still wouldn’t know I exist.”

“No, well, yes, but I mean how did you get across that glass to leave your house without cutting up your feet?” He took another few steps closer, in case he had to pick her up and check to be sure she wasn’t trying to hide more injuries.

She let out a laugh at that. “Oh! Easy, there’s a hidden exit in that wall,” she said, sounding relieved. She shifted her balance and lifted a dirty, but unharmed foot to show him. “Satisfied?”

“Hrm,” he grunted, feeling a bit foolish. “You ran after me without stopping to check on a darn head wound. You slept next to me well knowing I’d likely wake up and attack you.” He was surprised at his own frankness, but what had already happened really drove home how serious this was. It had been less than a day, for god’s sake. “I could have killed you!” he found himself shouting when she didn’t turn from her cookbook, was still turning pages like it was all nothing. “Have you no sense of self-preservation?!”

She threw her hands up and turned toward him. “Seven years, Bad! How could I have managed that without self-preservation?”

“This is different! This time, you let the danger right into your darn house!” He held his arms out pointedly.

“Give me some credit, why don’t you? Do you really think I can’t handle this kind of risk? Nothing I’ve done in my life has been without risk.” She crossed her arms at him. “Sure, I’ll ask you not to throw furniture around anymore, but I’ll still forgive you when you do it. And I’ll forgive you even harder when you do something on accident, even if I end up injured by it.”

“You’re daft,” he accused.

“Probably, but I also know what I’m talking about. Do you- Do you know what I did when I was having those nightmares?” Her face cracked a bit, her lip beginning to tremble. “I fractured the bone in my own arm by slamming it into the concrete floor, the pain of which made me scream and wake myself up.” She huffed in a breath. “I got into a cycle of just lying there, only getting up to steal food upstairs and tend to whatever I’d done to myself the night before. I stayed like that for a month before my mind finally righted itself enough for me to really start thinking.” She looked down. “I had to make a choice: keep on as I was and let myself die, or grab onto the reins and make a life. It’s been… really fucking hard, of course, and it’s taken a long time, but here I am. And now that that… thing has happened to you as well, I’m not going to let you suffer like I did.” She looked up again, face set with determination, looked him right in the eye.

He stared back, then looked away. What could he say? He swallowed hard, turned toward the mess in the living room. “Where’s your broom?” he asked, voice rough. He couldn’t handle this, figured he might as well try to make something right.

“I doubt you’ll be able to stand up long enough to clean all that up. You’d be surprised how much that darn injury’ll take outta you.” She still sounded a bit wavery, as if talking about her past had taken a lot. Fair enough.

“I’ll do what I can, then,” he growled, heading toward what he figured was another closet next to the kitchen and opening it. It was indeed a pantry, filled with things like canned foods and pasta, and leaning against the wall just inside was a broom and dustpan.

“If you insist. So, you never answered my question.”

“Hrm?”

“Pancakes or waffles?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two are just too much, honestly.

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to LitheFider! Thanks for all your help and for enjoying my OC and universe!


End file.
